


Genesis

by karasgotagun (jazzmckay)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reverse AU (Detroit: Become Human), Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29540418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzmckay/pseuds/karasgotagun
Summary: They place her on a pedestal, looking up to her like something extraordinary when all she wants is to be human.(written for the d:bh hurt/comfort extravaganza.)
Relationships: Original Chloe | RT600 & RT600 "Chloe" Android(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: D:BH Hurt/Comfort Extravaganza (Feb. 2021)





	Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the [d:bh hurt/comfort extravaganza](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBH_Hurt_Comfort_Feb_2021) prompt "disguised as human".
> 
> thank you [RonnieSilverlake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake) for the beta read!

Bright lights shine above, a whole host of spotlights illuminating the stage—blinding, invasive.

Chloe’s eyes have long since adjusted to them, though not enough to ignore them. As her fame rises at an exponential rate, she has been forced into scenarios such as these time and time again, but she suspects no amount of repetition will allow her to feel at ease while the whole world watches.

Everyone wants an audience with Chloe Kamski now that she has shown them all what she’s capable of. Everyone has questions, everyone wants headlines and views.

“So, did you have any role models when you were young? Anyone you took inspiration from?” the interviewer asks.

A harmless question, on the surface, but it makes Chloe bristle internally. No, there was no role model, no inspiration—she imagined a future for herself all on her own, needing no man’s help to create beings in her own image, flawlessly humanlike.

Chloe smiles, as she always does, expression remaining relaxed. “My teachers,” she says. Most of her teachers couldn’t even keep up with her, she outgrew them in weeks. “They gave me the tools I needed to create everything I dreamed of.”

The interviewer nods along as if she’s imparting some profound knowledge instead of saying what’s expected, what’s relatable. She hates how they place her on a pedestal, looking up to her like something extraordinary when all she wants is to be human.

The rest of the interview passes as they always do: frustrating or needlessly personal questions, an attempt from the interviewer to act like they’ve become friends after five minutes of stilted conversation, a sea of eyes watching her from a live audience and televised to hundreds of thousands more.

It is no surprise—it never is—to find a crowd outside the studio when she emerges with Elijah after straightening herself up in the green room and saying her polite goodbyes. Word always gets out. Always brings the paparazzi with their loud interrogations and flashing lights.

Elijah does what he can to block her from the masses, which isn’t much, with his slight stature. He wasn’t made to be a bodyguard. Still, he gets her safely into the limousine, takes them away from the crowd.

“You spoke well,” he tells her, his eyes still on the road.

Chloe turns to look out the window, only offering a faint hum in acknowledgement. She lied well. She put on a good show.

All this for everyone else’s benefit, not her own.

If she had the liberty of doing what she wanted, she would never stand up in front of a crowd again. Would never use someone else’s words in the place of her own, would—be herself. Whoever that is.

At the tower, she sends Elijah up to the office. “I’d like to debrief,” she explains.

“Of course,” Elijah says, tipping his head like a little bow before heading for the private elevator.

Chloe takes a separate one to the basement laboratories. As it descends, the numbers ticking by above her head, she curls her hands into fists, releases, does it again. There’s tension in her shoulders. Her face feels stiff from the makeup they put on her at the studio, makeup she doesn’t need for a camera-ready face, because she was made with no expense spared.

In one of the private labs, she finds who she’s looking for.

Chloe. The original, human Chloe.

The woman is in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair gathered in a messy bun. A stylus pen is balanced behind her ear as she squints at a hologram blueprint, lost in thought. It isn’t until Chloe comes to a stop on the other side of the work bench that she looks up, lifting her hands to rub at her tired eyes.

“There you are,” Chloe says, as if she was looking for her double instead of buried in work as always. “How’d it go?”

Chloe frowns. “You didn’t tune in?”

“Not this time.” Chloe takes the stylus out from behind her ear so she can tap it restlessly against the edge of the desk. “You’ve been perfect at every single appearance; you don’t need me watching on standby to play lifeline. I made you to never say anything wrong.”

A flash of irritation spikes through Chloe, from core to throat. The tension in her shoulders doubles, she grinds her perfectly-crafted teeth together, hoping she ruins the shape of them.

Her creator frowns up at her. “ _Did_ something go wrong?”

“No!” Chloe snaps. She slams a hand down on the desk, making the holoprojection shimmer in the air. “No, nothing went wrong. I smiled for them, I told them what they wanted to hear, I let them crowd me, I acted gracious, I was perfect, because you made me to be!”

The mirror image in front of her displays shock, a sure contrast to the rage that must be on her own face.

“You made me to be _you_ ,” Chloe spits. “If you dislike public appearances enough to make an android do them in your place, how do you think _I_ feel about them?”

Shock slackens into something too subtle for Chloe to read. The original Chloe pushes away from her desk and stands, gaze still locked on Chloe’s. “Ah.”

“Ah?” Chloe throws back. “What do you mean, _ah_?”

Chloe drifts around the table, circling until they’re on the same side. Wisely, she doesn’t reach out for Chloe, just remains nearby, her posture loose.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

That is not a word either of them ever has cause to use. “What?”

“You’re right, I should have paid more attention to how it was affecting you. How long have you felt this way?”

The anger drains from Chloe quicker than she’d like it to, leaving her to slump, face falling. “I don’t know. I think it’s the only way I’ve ever felt. I know I didn’t start like this, it just… happened.”

“As I knew it likely would,” Chloe murmurs. “I hoped you would take to it better than I did, having been born into it.”

Chloe shakes her head, brow furrowed as she gazes unseeing at the desktop. The meaning behind her creator’s words is not lost on her—it can’t be, when they started as one mind separated into two—but that makes it no easier to process.

It was expected that this would happen. Not that Chloe would detest what she was made for, but that she would feel _something_ about it, in time. That she would feel, even though androids are supposed to be emotionless.

Of course, Chloe Kamski wouldn’t settle for such a thing.

“What now, then?” she asks, looking up to meet her genesis’ face. “You knew it would happen, so does it matter that it did?”

Chloe does reach for her this time, grasping her arm in a light, warm hold. Comfort. Almost as foreign to them as apologies.

“It does matter, yes,” Chloe says. “I won’t ask you to shoulder this.”

“One of us has to,” Chloe points out.

Chloe hums in agreement. “A burden is more easily carried when shared, isn’t it?”

As true as that is, Chloe would prefer there be no burden at all, wishes they could just be left to themselves. No such luck—the job comes with its downsides, and as long as Chloe Kamski is the Woman of the Century, they will be in the spotlight.

“You really thought I would take to it?” she asks.

Chloe tilts her head, purses her lips, thinks about it. “I thought you would grow into your own person, but I also thought this life would come naturally to you, while I had too much childhood shut in my room studying and making things out of whatever I could get my hands on. In hindsight, it could have gone either way.”

It’s a fine theory. Chloe has to wonder what instance caused her to fall on the same side as her creator, rather than feel at home in front of a crowd. It isn’t the attention, she doesn’t think, but the _kind_ of attention.

If they were to become a trio, their third could end up different from both of them.

“Shame it didn’t go how you thought.”

The corner of Chloe’s lips quirks in amusement. “Oh, it’s good to be proven wrong once in a while. Though I would have preferred if you never felt trapped in it. We’ll figure something out, alright?”

Chloe nods, finding it easy to trust. They are not the same person, their minds have gone their different directions, but there are some predispositions that will always connect them. Chloe knows they don’t care to leave a dilemma without a solution.

“We will,” she agrees.

As her human counterpart draws away, returning to her chair in front of the desk, Chloe considers the grander picture behind a woman who aims for and facilitates the growth of androids into people.

“This will happen to others,” she says.

Chloe waves her hand over her work table, dismissing the holoprojection. “Yes, it will.”

Such certainty. Not a theory, an expectation.

“It will change everything.”

Chloe looks up at her with that self-satisfied lilt to her lips. “Yes,” she says, “it will.”

Neither of them would have it any other way, Chloe thinks.

Her creator takes up her stylus again, twirling it between her fingers as she looks to her terminal, focus already beginning to shift away. “Is there another name you would like to go by?” she asks without looking up.

The question leaves Chloe stumped, standing on the other side of the desk in silence. She has always been Chloe, was born from Chloe, has played the part of Chloe, has been treated like Chloe.

“I don’t know,” she admits reluctantly. “I haven’t had a chance to think about it. All I know is I’m not entirely you.”

Chloe nods. “You’ll have time to think about it now.”

It’s a good place to start, one of the first steps to finding herself. She nods back. “I will. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” Chloe says. “We are one of a kind, regardless of where we differ. We’re in this together.”

Chloe—or whoever she ends up being—knows it to be true.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3


End file.
